


Musings Upon the Floating City of Nym

by FirebreathFishslap



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Backstory, Drabble, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-08-31 10:31:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8574883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FirebreathFishslap/pseuds/FirebreathFishslap
Summary: The Floating City of Nym has floated above Vylbrand for centuries, and for a Lalafell who grew up in its shadow, finally making it to it was like coming home.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This started off as a kind of stream of consciousness drabble about my alt, Chunakka Tamnakka, and ended up being a bit longer than originally intended. It's not a very good look into his actual mindset (he's kind of a lil shit), but it was an interesting write.

                The first memories Chunakka had were of the Floating City of Nym.

                If he climbed up to the top of the farmhouse, he could see the spires of crystal over the treetops, the white marble of the ruins visible on their peaks. The first time he was brought up there, it was by his father, cradled in his arms. With wide eyes, Chunakka stared out at the floating crystals while his father pointed out at them with stubby, Lalafellin hands, regaling him with tales of the civilization that had once lived in these hills.

                They were protected by scholars, he said. Mages who could summon fairies to protect themselves and others, and when their kingdom was attacked by the black mages of Mhach and the white mages of Amdapor, even a small number of them had been able to fight off the invaders and reign triumphant. And even though their kingdom was gone, he could still see the ruins all around this land, a remnant of their great strength.

                When he’d gotten older, he’d started to climb up there on his own, pulling his way up on the gaps between wood panelings, his pet puk clawing into his shoulders while it desperately flapped its wings to stay balanced. And he climbed and climbed, hanging on with dear life with pudgy fingers, until he pulled himself up onto the shingles and the shimmering sky stared down at him. And he sat up there, his knees pulled close to his chest, and watched them until his mother caught him.

                But on the rare nights where she didn’t realize he’d snuck out of bed, he would sit up there, watching until sleep pulled at his eyelids, and in the morning, he would be woken by the soft fingers of dawn creeping over the horizon, the crowing of the family’s dodos announcing the arrival of the next day. 

* * *

                 The day that the sky shattered, Chunakka ran.

                All of his carefully crafted evacuation plans, the many hours spent around the cookfire going over maps and food stores and planning for anything that could possibly go wrong, it all meant nothing in face of the Greatwyrm. The moment the moon shattered, everyone burst away from each other, dashing away in different directions. Chunakka hadn’t seen where they’d gone, only that they’d run, and they’d run in a different direction than him. All he could think was to run further away, out of the burning woods, until there was nothing left for the flames to burn.

                His pet clung to his shoulders as he ran, tears streaming down his face, and he wasn’t quite sure if the burning feeling in his legs was exhaustion from the run or from the flames licking at his feet. Trees that had stood for his entire life collapsed around him, clouds of smoke barring his way as he climbed further, further up the mountain.

                When he stopped, it was hours later, and it was when he collapsed into a pile of dirt. And he breathed into it, and he felt the taste of dirt on his tongue, and he curled into a ball on the ground.

                And had he not heard the earth shift around him, he probably would have stayed that way.

                He rolled over and looked up, and when he looked up, he saw not the flaming sky, but the massive body of a golem standing over him.

                His breath caught. The small pinpricks of light in its eyes bound him to the ground. A distant roar echoed over Vylbrand. Sweat and tears ran down Chunakka’s face. The golem did not move.

                _Don’t kill me now,_ he thought desperately. _I have so much I still have to do._

The sound of fire and dirt dimmed in his ears. He prayed and pled but he didn’t speak a single word. The golem stood sentinel over him.

                And then, with a heavy, deliberate action, the golem turned away. With heavy, deliberate steps, it walked away. And it was now that Chunakka saw the others walking past, all staring up at the sky with their pinprick eyes. But the sky was blotted out by smoke, and whatever wonder had attracted their attention, he couldn’t see.

                With a sob, he covered his face with his balled up hands, gritting his teeth as he tried to hold back any further sobs.

                When he next opened his eyes, the golems were gone. The cloud of smoke had begun to clear, and he could see small glittering lights in the sky. Stars. Stars he hadn’t seen since the moon had first begun to fall. If he still had tears in him, he would have sobbed again, but they were burnt out of him, and an angry headache had worked its way into his skull. His whole body was covered in a layer of ash, and his wounds ached.

                He sat up, resting a hand on his pet puk’s back, lightly stroking its scales as he looked around. Wildfires still burnt in the distance, and there was smoke, but he couldn’t hear explosions or animals screaming anymore. It was quiet.

                He slowly got to his feet, his shoes slipping in the ash, and he stared up at the sky. Was anyone still alive? Was he the only one left? It was so quiet, he couldn’t help but think so.

                It was now that he could look around. He was at the bottom of a small ravine, more of a trench in the grass and rock and dirt. He strained his eyes, trying to make out details in a dirty, gray world, and stopped. He could see the glint of something in the air, big and bright and humming with energy, and his eyes widened. He scrambled up the slope at one end of the ravine, and he ran to the edge, mouth wide as he saw the ruined fragments of white marble.

                All around him were floating islands, suspended by corrupted crystal, fragmented white marble buildings perched upon their peaks. He ran along the side of the ravine, gazing up at them, until he reached the cliff at the end of the dirt path.

                Floating out past the peak were tens, maybe hundreds of shining, suspended islands, white ruins and thriving foliage set upon their thrones.  Their glimmering lights, which had hung eternally in the sky where he’d once lived, looked so fragile now. The ruins of a once thriving civilization, now hung forever, just out of reach, to remind the world of what had once been. Where fairies had once flown, where great scholars had once lived, and where the pride of Vylbrand had held their own against a greater threat. Where he had dreamed and stared in awe and wondered what he could be someday.

                Even now, they were still here, so far away that he couldn’t touch, close enough that if he could touch them, they’d break apart in his palms.

                Even if everyone else in the world was gone, they were still here. And so was he. But even though they could keep floating here for all eternity, he had to keep moving. It was the most he could do.

                And so he kneeled. He prayed, though he wasn’t sure who to. And when he felt like he could walk, the burns he’d earned a dull throb against his skin, he started walking back down the mountain, past the smoldering wildfires and cratered ground, back down toward the shining sea. 

* * *

                Alka Zolka had said that the memories within the Soul of the Scholar were those of his fairy, and that helping her remember her past would let her use abilities she couldn’t before. And when he’d said that, Chunakka knew exactly where she needed to go.

                He hadn’t been back to the woods around Bronze Lake in five years now, and the landscape felt unfamiliar. The lake had drained in the Calamity, revealing a massive white marble temple and the skeleton of a massive sea serpent. They kept going up the hill, ducking around kobold settlements during their ascent, until the greenery began to return, and Chunakka could catch glimpses of what he’d been seeking: the white marble ruins, and the glittering corrupted crystals around them.

                The golems had returned, and so had the puks and vultures, both flapping along on wings that looked too brittle for their bodies. The coeurls had moved in, and so had the opo-opos, and they roamed freely through the white marble, looking for food and shelter and whatever else beastkin needed.

                And while Chunakka watched, the fairy flitted through the ruins, among the floating islands of rock, before flitting down the road. He hopped off his stone seat and followed her down the road, down to the cliff overlooking the valley. His footsteps slowed as he approached the cliff-side, and his vision was gifted with a horizon he hadn’t seen since he’d first fled in the wake of the Calamity.

                The gleaming sunlight upon the mountain refracted through the crystals, revealing new detail in the ruins. They still slept, alone and fragile, above the rest of the world, waiting for a society that was long gone.

                He took a seat next to the fairy and folded his arms around his knees. Whatever emotions she felt, he knew they were echoed in his own chest. They’d both come home.


End file.
